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“ Welcome to Norham, Marmion!
“ Stout heart, and open hand! “ Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan,
“ Thou flower of English land !"
Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck,
Stood on the steps of stone,
They hail'd Lord Marmion :
Of Tamworth tower and town;
All as he lighted down.
“ Now, largesse, largesse,* Lord Marmion,
Knight of the crest of gold ! “ A blazon'd shield, in battle won,
“ Ne'er guarded heart so bold.”
They marshalld him to the Castle-hall,
Where the guests stood all aside, And loudly flourish'd the trumpet-call,
And the heralds loudly cried, —“ Room, lordings, room for Lord Marmion,
“ With the crest and helm of gold ! “ Full well we know the trophies won
“ In the lists at Cottiswold :
“ There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove
“ 'Gainst Marmion's force to stand; “ To him he lost his lady-love,
“ And to the King his land.
The cry by which the heralds expressed their thanks for the bounty of the nobles.
“ Ourselves beheld the listed field,
“ A sight both sad and fair ; “ We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield,
“ And saw his saddle bare ; “ We saw the victor win the crest,
“ He wears with worthy pride ; “ And on the gibbet-tree, reversed,
“ His foeman's scutcheon tied.
“ Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight!
“ Room, room, ye gentles gay, « For him who conquer'd in the right,
“ Marmion of Fontenaye !"
Then stepp'd to meet that noble Lord,
Sir Hugh the Heron bold,
And Captain of the Hold.
Raised o'er the pavement high,
And placed him in the upper place
They feasted full and high ;
" Stout Willimondswick,
“ And Hard-riding Dick, “ And Hughie of Hawdon, and Will o' the Wall, “ Have set on Sir Albany Featherstonhaugh, “ And taken his life at the Deadman's-shaw.". Scantly Lord Marmion's ear could brook
The harper's barbarous lay;
“Now, good Lord Marmion," Heron says,
“Of your fair courtesy,"
• The rest of this old ballad may be found in the note.
“ I pray you
space “ In this poor tower with me.
“ Here may you keep your arms from rust, May breathe
your war-horse well;
“ Seldom hath pass’d a week but giust
" Or feat of arms befel :
66 The Scots can rein a mettled steed,
“ And love to couch a spear ;“ Saint George ! a stirring life they lead,
“ That have such neighbours near. “ Then stay with us a little space,
66 Our northern wars to learn ; “ I pray you for your lady's grace !"
Lord Marmion's brow grew stern.
The Captain mark'd his alter'd look,
And gave a squire the sign ; A mighty wassell bowl he took,
And crown'd it high with wine.